


Whiskey Business

by Lalalli



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Brotp, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Humor, nearly naked Fitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5770906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was it about being drunk that made Fitz want to take off all his clothes?  “Fine, but at least leave your pants on.”</p>
<p>In which walking Fitz home from the bar is more eventful than it has any right to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Business

Jemma groaned as she struggled under the weight of an extremely inebriated Fitz, half-carrying him as they shuffled home from the bar. Though she was less drunk than he was, her brain was still as clouded and foggy as the 2 a.m. night sky overhead.

Sometimes she couldn’t believe that even though the two of them had the periodic table memorized backwards and forwards, neither of them could ever remember whether the saying went “beer _before_ liquor” or “beer _after_ liquor”. Jemma felt reasonably assured that this particular glaring omission from their mental stores of knowledge would be rectified after tonight.

“I don’t even care,” Fitz slurred for the 37th time that evening. “I just hope she doesn’t feel awkward, you know, when we see each other in class on Monday. I mean, I’m not going to feel awkward - I don’t care. She might, though.” He paused. “You know what she told me once? That she didn’t _get_ Harry Potter. Who doesn’t get Harry Potter?”

Jemma didn’t even bother responding to his rhetorical question. “Come on,” she encouraged, as they stumbled through the end of the long row of darkened storefronts and into the riverfront promenade.

“You know what I think, Jemma?” Fitz asked, still incensed.

“What, Fitz?” Jemma sighed.

“I think that...I think…” Fitz’s cheeks puffed and he dry heaved. “I think I’m going to be sick!” He lunged towards the railing and leaned over, his upper body hovering over the water. Though he made an impressive variety of gagging and choking sounds, nothing came out.

Jemma joined him and rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s okay,” she assured him. “Take your time.”

After a couple of minutes of trying and failing to retch, Fitz went silent. “Who put those rocks there?” he asked accusingly.

Jemma peered over the railing. “Those rocks were always there,” she explained. “It’s just that we couldn’t see them til now - the water has receded a bit.”

Fitz was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he straightened and turned to face Jemma, his bottom lip trembling. “Why’d the water leave, Jem?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Jemma covered her face with both palms and dragged them down her face as she considered her options. Her thoughts always seemed to come more slowly in the face of a drunk and emotional Fitz. Or maybe it was the booze.

Finally, she placed both her hands on Fitz’s shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and promised him, “The water will come back for you, okay? It will always come back.”

Fitz blinked back tears. “But what if it doesn’t?”

Jemma sighed. “Oh, Fitz.”

All at once, Fitz’s tears were gone, replaced by a steely glint of determination. “I’m going to get it back.” He shrugged Jemma’s hands off his shoulders and pulled his sweater and undershirt off in one swift movement.

“Whoa-wait-what?” Jemma sputtered in rapid succession, her eyes widening in alarm. “What are you _doing_?”

Fitz pointed at the river emphatically. “I am going in there and getting our water back,” he proclaimed. “Are you coming with me or not?”

Jemma just stared at him, flabbergasted, her mouth opening and closing silently like a fish. She shook her head, as though her brain were an Etch-a-Sketch and the movement would clear it. “No!” she exclaimed, finally finding her voice. “Are you _nuts_?”

Fitz shook his head in disappointment. “Then I guess you’re not as good a friend as I thought.” With that, he climbed over the railing and leapt into the river.

“Fitz!” Jemma screamed, panicked. “Fitz, get back here right this moment!”

Fitz, pausing from splashing violently in the water, turned to look at her. “What are you still doing there?” he demanded. “You said you were coming with me!”

“I most decidedly did not!” Jemma yelled back.

Suddenly, a bright light shone on Fitz from a few meters down the river. “Sir,” the policeman called out, his torch pointed at Fitz’s head. “You need to get out of the water immediately.”

“It’s a free country!” Fitz yelled back, much to Jemma’s horror. “Isn’t that why all you Yanks dumped all our tea into _this very river_?”

“I’m so sorry,” Jemma apologized, walking towards the policeman. “History is not his area of strength.”

The policeman raised his eyebrows in astonishment, twin furry caterpillars inching towards his receding hairline. “Is that really the salient issue at the moment?”

“THIS IS AMERICA!” Fitz shouted indignantly.

Jemma winced. This has got to be a nightmare. A horrifying, mortifying, way-too-vivid nightmare. “I am so sorry, sir,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat and said more confidently than she felt, “I’ll make sure he gets out and gets home without causing any more trouble.”

Jemma was aware of the policeman’s eyes on her as she knelt below the railing at the river’s edge. “Come on, Fitz,” she called out as persuasively as she could. “I bet the water is waiting for us at home! We have to go make sure it’s there!”

“You think so?!” Fitz asked excitedly. He scrambled over the rocks, tripping and fumbling as he climbed back up to Jemma.

“Here’s your shirt.” Jemma thrust it towards him as soon as he was back on the sidewalk.

“Oh, no!” Fitz groaned, looking down at himself. “Jem, my trousers!”

Jemma sighed, her arm flopping back down to her side. “What about your trousers?”

Fitz stretched out the fabric at his knee, revealing a wide tear. “I ruined my favorite trousers,” he whimpered, dangerously close to tears. “These are my favorites!”

Jemma held out his shirt again, way too cognizant of the fact that the policeman was still hovering behind them. “Come on, Fitz, put your shirt back on so we can go home.”

Fitz clutched at his other trouser leg and started pulling. “Help me tear this side, Jemma,” he commanded.

“Fitz! Stop!”

“I need to make them match!” he insisted.

“Fitz, just put on your shirt and start walking so this very nice policeman can get on his way!” Jemma ordered, exasperated.

“Not until you help me rip my trousers!”

Before Jemma realized what was happening, the policeman marched up to Fitz and tore his trouser leg. Fitz turned and clutched the policeman’s arm. “Thank you,” he whispered gratefully.

The policeman rolled his eyes and pointed down the street. “Go home!”

“I don’t even care,” Fitz mumbled, his water-logged shoes squeaking as Jemma took his arm and half-dragged him down the street. “She didn’t even get Harry Potter.”

\--------------------

Three blocks and half an hour later, Jemma set down a still-shirtless Fitz on the front stoop of their on-campus apartment complex. “Don’t worry, Fitz,” Jemma assured him as she rifled through the contents of her purse. “We’ll have you right as rain in no time.”

“Rain,” Fitz mused to himself. “Is that why I’m wet?”

“No, Fitz,” Jemma explained patiently for the fourth time in the past ten minutes. “You’re wet because you jumped in the river.” She triumphantly pulled her key ring out of her purse and unlocked the door. “Come on, Fitz. We’re almost there.”

Fitz stood, climbed up the two steps to the door, then froze. “Shit,” Fitz whispered. “Mrs. Norris is going to be _pissed_.”

Jemma furrowed her brow. “The building manager? Fitz, I’m sure she’s asleep by now.”

“But she’s a _retired spy_ , Jem,” Fitz reminded her, his voice desperate. “She’s going to know it’s me who dripped water everywhere!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jemma hissed, frustrated. She couldn’t believe they were so close, yet so far to being home. “You’re not even dripping that much anymore. Let’s. Go.”

Fitz unbuckled his belt. “I should just take off my trousers, so I don’t get everything wet,” he explained, as if it made perfect sense.

Jemma groaned. What was it about being drunk that made Fitz want to take off all his clothes? “Fine, but at least leave your pants on.”

\---------------------------

“Oof!” Jemma grunted as she dumped Fitz into his bed. Fitz moaned.

“Don’t worry, Fitz,” Jemma assured him, digging his phone, wallet, and keys out of his trouser pockets and setting them on his nightstand. “You’ll get to sleep soon - I’m just going to get you some water first.” She walked through the living room of their shared apartment to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. After a moment’s deliberation, she chugged it down, then refilled it.

After stopping by their bathroom to get a bottle of aspirin and a wastebasket, Jemma returned to Fitz’s room. “Drink this,” she ordered, sitting on the edge of his bed and holding out the glass of water.

Fitz sat up and reached forward, but instead of taking the water from her, plopped his open palm on the center of her face, his fingers spread out wide, spanning from ear to ear. “I like the way you styled your face today,” Fitz slurred, his fingertips pulling her skin down as he slowly ran his hand down her face. “What’d you do different?”

“Nuffing,” Jemma said, her voice muffled on account of her lips being squashed by his palm. She swatted at his arm until he removed his hand.

Fitz poked at her cheeks with his fingers. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered, in awe. “How’d you get to be so pretty?”

Jemma sighed. “Oh, Fitz.” Why couldn’t he ever compliment her like this when he’s _sober_? She took his hand from her face and wrapped his fingers around the glass of water. “Drink. Now.”

Fitz grinned. “I like it when you’re bossy. Have I ever told you that?” He raised the glass to his lips.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Only when you’re too drunk to remember the next morning.”

“I’m going to remember this time,” Fitz promised, once he had drained the glass dry.

Jemma pushed herself off the bed. “If you say so.”

Fitz grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. “Jemma.” He frowned. “What if I don’t get Harry Potter either?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “Of course you get Harry Potter. You love Harry Potter.”

“But I don’t _understand_ ,” he insisted. “He was dead. But then he was alive. How’d that happen, Jem?”

“Magic, Fitz,” Jemma sighed.

“But I don’t understand.” He shook his head and flopped back down against his pillow. “I don’t understand Harry Potter, Jem.”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” she promised, standing.

“Wait!” Fitz shouted. “I’m cold! Why am I cold?”

Jemma crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Probably because you’re wearing wet pants.”

Fitz reached down and snapped the elastic waistband. “Should I take them off?” he asked.

“Yes - _Fitz! Not right this second! Jesus!_ ” Jemma shrieked, covering her eyes. She took a deep, calming breath.

“Not until after I leave,” she instructed. “And then you can get under your covers, where it’s nice and warm.” She peeked between her fingers to make sure he was decent.

Fitz nodded and closed his eyes.

“Fitz!”

Fitz’s eyes flew open. “What?”

“What are you going to do after I leave?” Jemma prompted.

Fitz blinked. “Take off my pants?”

“And?”

“Get under the covers.”

Jemma nodded. “Good. And you promise you’ll do that once I’ve closed the door?”

Fitz held out both hands with his thumbs up.

“Okay, Fitz,” Jemma said slowly, walking backwards. “Just to make sure, I’m going to wait right on the other side of the door and you tell me when you’ve taken off your pants, okay?” Without waiting for a response, she left the room and closed the door.

She heard rustling from inside the bedroom. “Oh no,” Fitz gasped.

“What’s wrong, Fitz?” Jemma asked, opening the door just a crack.

“It’s _Nagini_ ,” Fitz whispered in horror.

Jemma hit her forehead on the door and squeezed her eyes shut. “Does that mean your pants are off, Fitz?”

“Yes, they’re off,” he confirmed.

“And what are you going to do now?” Jemma prodded.

“Wank!”

“No, Fitz!” Jemma groaned. “The other thing!”

“Get under the covers?”

“Yes, Fitz.” She closed the door the rest of the way once she heard the sheets rustling from inside. As she made her way to her bedroom, she could still hear Fitz continuing their conversation.

“And _now_ I wank.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I recently started Tumblring! I'm Lalallicat there yonder. Maybe you can help me figure out what exactly I'm supposed to do with it. Or what pictures to put up or whatevs.
> 
> Comments and constructive feedback are appreciated!


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